The Daily Mail has an article about a 53 year old new divorcée named "Claire" who learned the hard way that her fantasy of divorce empowerment was just a fantasy. Claire of course didn't ditch her boring loyal dude in hopes of finding her secret multimillionaire hunky handyman; instead she tells us that he left her after she made it clear that she didn't want to remain married to him:

'Bye then,' she said, as he walked out of the door and out of her life

Though shocked and hurt, Claire, a 53-year-old travel agent from Colchester, Essex, admits part of her was excited at the thought of being single again.

While she loved her husband, like most couples in long marriages, she felt they had become a little staid and set in their ways. Their sex life was hardly the firework display of their 20s, and sometimes she'd look over at this snoring, paunchy, greying man on the other side of the bed and wonder: 'Is this it?'

Now that Claire has experienced the realities of the SMP, she wishes she could go back and do it differently:

To Claire, it sounded like a different world; a sweet shop filled with thrills and excitement, all available at her fingertips. Just the pick-me-up she needed.

Sadly, six months later, Claire would do anything to be back in the marital home, listening for the sound of her husband's key in the door.

...she'd be the first to warn any married woman secretly thinking the grass might be greener on the other side to stay firmly where she is.

One of the most brutal hallmarks of older women's declining SMP power is how open men are about seeing them as good for a quick lay, but not worthy of investment/commitment.

Claire says: 'I'd hoped to meet some decent men in their 50s, someone with whom I could enjoy a conversation or a meal out.

'But it was horrendous and I've found that it's zapped my confidence and made me feel a lot more anxious about the future.

'I've been shocked by the number of men who think it's acceptable to send you pictures of their private parts.

...

'What I find particularly depressing is that these men think that's what women today have been reduced to - that it's a normal way to speak to a woman in 2017.

Another late life divorcée named Cath describes the same dynamic:

Mike, a 49-year-old mechanic, cut straight to the chase. He pointed out that we were no more than a couple of minutes apart.

'On my lunch break,' he messaged. 'Do you fancy meeting up for a bit of fun?'

The Daily Mail brought in an expert who explained the realities of Rollo's SMP Chart (emphasis mine):

Marital therapist Andrew Marshall, author of It's Not A Midlife Crisis, It's An Opportunity, says he has been seeing more and more women like Claire, bored with their marriages and tempted by one 'last hurrah' in the seemingly exciting world of internet dating.

...

Yet the reality of starting again on the dating scene, 30-plus years after they left it, rarely lives up to the expectation, says Mr Marshall.

...

'For any woman whose last experience of meeting partners was many years ago via friends, work or in a nightclub, she will find the dating landscape has changed considerably - and not in her favour,' says Mr Marshall. 'Because, though dating sites offer the prospect of meeting thousands of men, the power dynamic has shifted once you're an older woman.

One thing I've discovered is just how many divorced women between age 35 and 55 there are in my little neck of the woods. Another is how they reenter the dating market as 50 year old women after 20+ years of marriage (or multiple failed marriages), but still approach dating as if it were 1987, not 2017, and with the same stratospheric standards for men they had as 25 year old women. They honestly think they can still command the same level of sexual attention they once did. They also think that Sam Elliott or Robert Redford will be the order of the day. Instead it's more like Steve Buscemi and Wallace Shawn.

I do feel some pity towards these women. They are foolish and weak willed women that have been pandered to by society. They have been lied to, and they wanted to hear those lies. They were told what their itching ears wanted to hear. Now the chickens have come home to roost. They have sown to the wind, and reaped the whirlwind.

Men fall in love with young women. If a woman marries young, and does a decent job of being a wife, her husband will almost always love her all her days. He sees her through his "wife goggles". Though she ages, she will always remain "a lovely deer, a graceful doe" to him.

On the other hand, if she foolishly, and wickedly abandons the companion of her youth, she will have a very hard time getting a quality man to fall in love with her as a divorced woman (with a bad attitude, sense of entitlement, weathered face, and sagging body) in her 40s or 50s.

Other men won't see her as "a lovely deer, a graceful doe", they will see her as a "high mileage, dinged up, used car, with a rebuilt title".

Week oneI made a profile by downloading the app to my phone and linking it to my Facebook account, then I chose some flattering pictures of myself.To deter time-wasters, I tried to be as specific about what I was looking for in a man as possible: someone with a good sense of humour who would share my love of Eighties music.As a more mature woman, I also made it plain I didn't appreciate being called 'babe', 'sweetie', 'princess', 'my lovely', 'cutie', or 'hun' and that I was not in the market for one-night stands.My phone was flooded with hundreds of men who matched my criteria - aged 40 to 55 and all within a 60-mile range.I admit I was excited. All these men I could take my pick from! It felt like going shopping with no limit on my card. By the end of the first hour, I had swiped right - or approved - about 50 possibles who I liked the look of.A few hours later, I got my first match - one of the men had liked me back.Mike, a 49-year-old mechanic, cut straight to the chase. He pointed out that we were no more than a couple of minutes apart.'On my lunch break,' he messaged. 'Do you fancy meeting up for a bit of fun?'I was horrified. I quickly ducked below the window and turned off my phone.

Week twoAfter my alarming start, I decided I'd have to play detective to stay safe.So when super-muscled Dave popped up, saying he was a member of an elite Army regiment on a secret mission to the Middle East, I decided to do some digging.I asked for his email address and used it to track down his IP address - the unique number that identifies the network on which an email is sent - and found that his message had come from Russia.When I asked why, Dave's profile instantly disappeared. Clearly, I was going to have to keep my wits about me.Week threeThis was getting depressing. When I first dated 30 years ago, we'd shyly share a warm Bacardi and coke and talk about Duran Duran. Today, there's no innocence, no flirting, no finesse.I began the week being 'wooed' by a 'suitor' who called himself Firm Hand. His profile picture showed a stool painted with the words: 'The Naughty Spot.' His ideal Tinder date, he revealed straightaway, was a 'strict auntie' to give him a 'guiding hand'.Then there was Mark, who wanted to meet me with 'the wife' - pictured with her face obscured, but not much else.I felt sick. Was this really what dating had been reduced to? I suddenly felt very sorry for my daughter. Will she ever experience that thrill of eyes meeting across a crowded bar?I was two weeks and hundreds of swipes in, and I'd still not had a single, genuine date with an honest man. I felt like giving up.